"Can you speak?" A one day asked as Nate played. He reached for his notepad, which A abruptly pushed away. After a curious look, A asked again, "I didn't ask if you could talk. I asked if you could speak,"
Nate looked at her, slightly bemused, his wide, unblinking eyes withdrawing slightly to ponder the question. He then, twitching his mouth slightly, shrugged somewhat belligerently. A sighed.
She crawled-shuffled towards the coffee table and reached for a small bag, which she tossed over to Nate. "My present to you, Near. Maybe to celebrate your new name," she handed a small paper bag over to the child. "B and a few others have often told me that I should be more human, and therefore need to act more so. At an educated guess, I presume that you have been told the same. After all, the gift came to mind when I saw you playing with that robot there," she said as gently as she could muster, and wondered briefly when the last time had been that she had used this particular tone when speaking to someone.
Ma soeur. She dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come, and watched Nate slowly pull out Superman from within his confinements. A joyful spark burned in his eyes for a moment, before he carried out his usual examinations on the toy and the eyes became dull once more. Could the arms move? How much? Could the various body parts come off? He fingered it gently.
"Can I leave you here while I join L and Y?" Nate looked on with curiosity. "Mr Wammy has got the Chief Inspector of the NYPD on the phone, and I must join them in the negotiation process." Nate nodded and an almost inaudible burble of sound escaped his lips. He clapped his hand over his mouth in embarrassment.
"Tha…Thank you, A," he managed. A was intrigued by the soft, American tones that Nate's voice contained.
She grinned, an action so out of custom for her that her muscles hurt, and answered, "You're welcome,"
She left. Nate cuddled Optimus Prime, now with Superman, and buried his face in them, providing dubious comfort.
He had seen how her eyes glinted with something that wasn't quite contentment, and anything completely unfamiliar made him uneasy.
He was scared.
"You have both gathered substantial information regarding both Queens' and Jacks', and of a possible new identity, Kings'," Wammy began, photos of various gang members and both of their respective hideouts stood spread out on the table. "Now we have to give the NYPD this data and after 8 days have passed and the meeting at Prospect Park has taken place, we can consider our work here done and I will review your work. Mr Mahoney, can you hear me?" Wammy abruptly switched to the phone.
"Loud and clear,"
"To the best of my and my associates' knowledge, the Queens' hideout lies on the dilapidated mansion "Greenwalds" on 61st Street, Queens and Jacks' as being in the basement and garden apartment of 246 54th Street, Princeton-Plainsboro, New Jersey. Are there any further questions you would like to ask me?" Wammy said, as if he had been doing this all his life.
"No, that's completely fine – although, we'd like your authorisation on this, W, I have my men ready to raid those two residences, and that of the house you mentioned earlier, in Brooklyn?"
L's alarmed eyes stared at Wammy. What house?
"I followed them – I didn't feel like I was doing enough," Matt quietly confessed, coughing slightly. Mihael nodded approvingly.
"Our SWAT teams are ready and waiting," continued Mahoney, "and could start in a couple of hours,"
"That is most impressive, Mr Mahoney, I'm sure that my colleagues are also very happy to give our authorisation on this. Thank you very much, Chief Inspector."
"And thank you." the phone hung up. Eve butted in immediately.
"He asked us to meet on the 9th, it's just courtesy to acquiesce to his wishes," she said.
"Y, there is no courtesy performed by the wise in some situations, particularly those relating to crime. If you curtsy to each criminal you meet, chances are they'll not return the same 'honour' to you," he replied harshly. "We'll apprehend all of them when they're unprepared,"
L stepped in. "He might not be willing to impart certain information when he's in prison and it's not under his conditions," he said.
"L, there are some ways of getting that information," he said, distractedly, replacing the phone.
"I will not be party to torture," A said grimly, eyes wide with shock.
"It's not your decision to make," Wammy snapped.
"Shit…!" B swore again, kicking the wall. He had somehow managed to sleep outside after his more sensible side took over – and now, he was fairly concerned as to his current mental state and situation.
I need to do something to please A.
Normally, if he had asked an average guy from Queens' or someplace else, he would get 'flowers' or 'jewellery' or even one time 'declarations of love' (although this was from Drunk Boy). But with A, it was different. A was special. Somehow.
It wasn't his fault. God knew it wasn't A's fault. So it was that little brat's. But who sent him…?
Correction: It was L's fault. He was really behind everything. A's stress. His own stress. Sending that brat to stay, when he was actually spying for them. At least he confessed.
B scowled, almost collapsing on a bench rigidly.
L never saw how pale A got at the mention of the investigation. L never knew how much A worried when he found something new. L didn't have the emotions, that robotic…
B rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. His dull red eyes were becoming even blearier than they were usually accustomed to. This feeling was even more unpleasant as his eyes, his 'special' eyes, which portrayed everything in startling clarity and detail, did not seem to be reflecting this pain. He hesitantly opened them, and focussed on the woman sitting on the bench, testing it out.
Janet Stuart. 27/9/34.
He blinked.
Quarter Queen. 2/6/67.
Again. He looked back at the young girl running down the dingy road. 7? 8? Same age as when he got taken into Wammy's House. Poor thing, to be cursed with such a name.
Or blessed. What an interesting identity. He chuckled. A nice name. He fleetingly wondered why he couldn't see birthdays as well. Just deathdays.
You're beyond that. B chuckled manically once more. I'm Beyond Birthdays. Birthday. Beyond Birthday. Henh henh. An interesting identity.
He shuffled along in the direction of Renaldo Loci's house. He would get him. Bring him to A. Question him. Beat him up. No, not that. He needs to be alive.
Too bad.
Quarter Queen. QQ. qq. He remembered the faces on the pack of cards, the profile of a girl with very long hair. Head at the top, feet at the bottom.
B cocked his head, ignoring a car almost running over him.
Conversely, a 'dd' would be the opposite. Feet at the top, head at the bottom. Or a 'bb'. Or a 'Beyond Birthday'. Clever. Cunning connotations. Interesting identity.
"Henh henh…" he suddenly bolted, startling the passers-by.
Nice name.
L sipped his Earl Grey as Eve looked on.
"Why do you hold stuff so weirdly?" Matt asked, bluntly. Mihael wheeled around, mortified by his friend's audacity. "What, I'm just asking. It can't be anything big,"
L thought for a moment as he, getting bored of dropping the sugar cubes one by one into the teacup, dumped the whole tin inside. Eve groaned audibly, imagining the taste.
"It's a habit of mine," he finally started. "I've had it for as long as I can remember," he said dully. Mihael was still slightly infuriated that Matt had invaded L's veneer of calmness and 'in-control-ness' and questioned him. In irritation, he glared at Renaldo's letter.
"Why are some letters in capitals and some not?"
"It's a thing with newspaper print. You just try and find any letter that works, whether it be capitals or not." Eve said as L's eyebrows shot up and grabbed the letter. He stuck a hand out impatiently.
"Pen. Pen!" Mihael chucked a ballpoint from the other end of the room, which L caught with ease. Matt leaned over at the capitals he was circling.
"PNNT…TOUS…NENNF…NRNNN…NNNNNNNEN."
"That helps," Eve deadpanned.
"There's way too many 'N's," Matt observed. A silence followed.
"The common element," Eve breathed, running over to L's side. He omitted all the 'N's.
"PTOU…SEF…IRE…" L muttered.
"PTO, USE FIRE!" Eve triumphantly said.
"Was?" Mihael weakly asked.
"Invisible ink. But…fire…" Eve looked helplessly around. Matt wordlessly gave her a lighter and made a slightly apologetic face. She lit it and held it close to the other side of Renaldo's letter, where his true message started to flicker outwards.
I knew I was being followed.
I suppose it makes sense that the dirtier the work, the younger the kid. I'll have moved out by the time any sort of raids could be commenced by the time you get this letter.
I have measures for break-ins. If anyone tries to come in the vicinity of my house, I cannot guarantee their safety.
Yours truly.
A burst into the room, startling everyone. L wheeled around, still gingerly holding the letter.
"B's gone! I think he might have gone to… ah." L closed his eyes as A read the real message.. "The common element. His name. N!"
Eve lethargically crossed out the 'N' in 'Renaldo'. And saw through a simple anagram a very familiar name come across. She swore.
"You're coming with us, Mr Loci,"
"I'm turning 16 in November, how can I be a gang…" B struggled. "A gang boss?!" The police officer didn't sympathise.
"Yeah, we'll see once you get to the station." He drawled, looking absently at his comrades.
B reddened. "You wouldn't have such a lazy, lethargic voice, a 'can't-be-assed' face and tone if I was the one trying to pull your arm off," he said venomously.
"Hey!" said the police officer, still lazily. "What did you---oh my god, are your eyes…" The unfortunate man got shoved into a wall and as B got pulled off by two other officers, he turned around, with a clearer look in his eyes, blood dripping from his nose.
A lone, lean man stood at the corner, watching the commotion.
He chuckled.
"God does reward the worthy – especially to Eraldo Coil!" he said satisfied.
A/N: The B scene was so fun to write...